


A Sweeter Oblivion.

by silver_sun



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Fisting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_sun/pseuds/silver_sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been Jack who’d taught Ianto how to lose himself entirely in physical sensation. Jack who’d had taught him to live in the moment, to be able to surrender himself, and in that surrender find a freedom he’d thought never to ever feel again. Slowly, Ianto knows, Jack has been teaching him to be able to do the same for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sweeter Oblivion.

_**A Sweeter Oblivion. Ianto/Jack. NC17.**_  
 **Title:** A Sweeter Oblivion.  
 **Rating:** NC17  
 **Word count:** 5215  
 **Spoilers:** Set post Exit Wounds, but before Lost Souls.  
 **Pairing:** Ianto/Jack.  
 **Warnings:** Fisting. Slight D/s overtones.  
 **Summary:** It had been Jack who’d taught Ianto how to lose himself entirely in physical sensation. Jack who’d had taught him to live in the moment, to be able to surrender himself, and in that surrender find a freedom he’d thought never to ever feel again. Slowly, Ianto knows, Jack has been teaching him to be able to do the same for him.  
 **Authors note:** This originally started out as me attempting to write a pwp, only it mutated and took on a life of it own, and became more about why they’re together and doing what they’re doing.

The day had been difficult, and Ianto can see the left over tension still knotted in Jack’s shoulders where he lays on the bed in front of him.

They’ve been running two people down for a month now, and it doesn’t seem to be getting any easier. It’s more than just being short staffed, short staffed they could cope with. No, it’s the loss of two people that had become more like family than workmates that they’re struggling to cope with.

Today has brought that loss to the fore once again. It the fact that if Toshiko had still been alive, Ianto knows she would have been able run the calculations faster than he had. She would’ve triangulated the location of the where the aliens were holding their hostages so much quicker than he did. If Toshiko had still been there maybe they would’ve arrived at the warehouse before the shooting had started.

It’s the fact that if Owen had still be alive, or undead, Ianto still doesn’t know what to call it, even now when it no longer matters, then maybe three of the alien’s seven hostages wouldn’t have bled out waiting for medical attention that none of them knew know to give.

Pushing those thoughts from his mind Ianto tips a little more massage oil onto Jack’s back. Working slowly, fingers pressing and kneading tense muscles, feeling the stiffness gradually fade. Closing his eyes he tries to lose himself in the moment, in the feel Jack’s warm, strong body beneath his hands, and in the knowledge that he’s managing to do at least one thing right today.

It’s not altogether successful as his mind drifts back to the warehouse in Tremorfa, and to Gwen who’d held the hand of one of the hostages as they’d died. She’d talked to her, tried to comfort and reassure her as she’d slipped from life a scant few minutes before an ambulance had arrived.

The following clean up and organisation of a cover story had taken the rest of the afternoon, the three of them had worked methodically, silently, all lost in their own grim thoughts. The tension had built, eating away at each of them, until Ianto had known that something would have to give.

In the end it had been Gwen who’d snapped first, yelling at Jack once they’d got back to the Hub. She had asked him what good they were doing? What was the point of trying if they weren’t making a difference? And was there even anything left worth fighting for?

Jack had simply walked over to her, took her in his arms and held her tight. Then, once she’d quietened, told her, his voice hoarse, to go home, to look at Rhys, and then ask herself those questions again.

She’d nodded, understanding, maybe already knowing the answer. She had smiled at them both, through tears that had become an all too common occurrence, before she’d run out to her car and back to the man she loved.

That had been three hours ago.

Now, as he feels Jack finally begin to relax under his hands, Ianto wonders if Gwen is at home with Rhys, if he is helping her find some peace, and the strength to go on. He hopes so, because he doesn’t think either Jack or he could stand to lose anyone else right now.

Jack murmurs appreciatively as Ianto continues to knead his tense muscles, fingers pushing and flexing against smooth skin. Hearing Jack, Ianto leans forward, kissing the back of his neck, feeling Jack’s hair still damp from the shower against his face.

“Enjoying yourself?” He keeps his voice low, whispering into Jack’s ear. He knows that Jack is, but it never hurts to ask.

“Oh yeah.” Jack sounds a little breathless and he squirms against the bedcover as Ianto starts to massage lower on his back.

“I can tell.” Ianto smiles indulgently, knowing that Jack is trying his best not to rub himself off against the sheets.

Jack laughs, a deep, sensual sound that Ianto feels as much through his hands as much he hears it. It’s good to hear Jack laugh, even if it is just for a brief moment. There hasn’t been enough laughter lately, and Ianto misses it.

Kissing Jack’s neck again, Ianto continues with the massage, glad that he’s able to help.  
He knows that Jack is struggling with more than the loss of Owen and Tosh, and the blame he attached to himself for their deaths. He’s mourning his brother, his past, and all the possible lives he might have lived had things been different.

Ianto knows that Jack has taken the day’s less than successful mission hard, blaming himself for what he sees as his failure.. Not that Jack has said anything, and Ianto’s attempts at conversation with him have been all but blanked since Gwen had left. It was how Jack had been silent as he’d helped Ianto unload the SUV, and as they’d transfer the alien corpses to cold storage. It was in the way he’d shut himself in his office to write up the report, and in the fact that Ianto had seen him pour a generous measure of whiskey in to one of the rarely used tumblers on his desk.

It had been at that point that Ianto had realised that his attempts to talk to Jack at that moment would only be counterproductive, so he’d slipped away down to the archives.

Going down to the archives is one of the two main ways that Ianto uses to deal with things here at Torchwood. In the archives he can organise and put things into place. It is, for want of a better word, safe. There he’s in complete control of his world and nothing can touch him.

The other is to lose himself in trying to help others. It makes him feel like he has a purpose, and the reward of a smile or a kind word in return can, for a time at least, leave him the feeling like he’s on top of the world. It’s something that he can pour time and energy into, allowing him to push down and ignore his own feelings and needs until they’re all but forgotten.

It doesn’t always work, he’s willing to admit that. Sometimes what he’s feeling just won’t go away or be pushed aside. It festers beneath the surface until it feels like it’s consuming him, drowning him, and he has to let it out or go under. Today, fortunately, is not one of those days. Today he’s all right.

Jack, however, he’s not so sure about.

Jack had still been sat at his desk, when Ianto had returned from the archives. Staring almost vacantly unfinished report in front of him, the tumbler of whiskey still at his side.

The relief that Ianto had felt when he’d realised that little more than a couple of mouthfuls had been gone surprised him. He knew that it shouldn’t, Jack being more than capable for looking after himself, yet it was still a comfort to know that Jack hadn’t tried to seek oblivion in drink.

Ianto knows how strong that temptation can be sometimes. Knows because both Jack and himself have occasionally, in the past at least, done just that. He also knows that it doesn’t solve anything, not in the long term.

Sometimes though that brief respite from reality, that oblivion, could be too seductive to reject. So, although he’d been relieved that Jack had rejected it, the look in Jack’s eyes made him wonder if just occasionally, oblivion might be something that Jack desperately needed.

Jack had allowed Ianto to escort him from the Hub without argument, simply nodding his agreement when Ianto had suggested that they both needed to get away for a few hours.

The drive to Ianto’s flat had been quiet, Jack sitting still silent and distant beside him, although his hand had rested on Ianto thigh for the whole journey. A gesture that Ianto has come to realise means ‘thank you for being here.’

It had been Ianto’s suggestion that they shower together. He knew that they both needed the closeness of it, the intimacy. That they were dusty and sweaty from the day’s exertions had made it easier to justify.

Under the warm water Jack had kissed him, his hands never still as he checked over the few small scrapes and bruises Ianto had received earlier that day. They were all minor irritations, the result of climbing in through a window in the building where the aliens had been holding their hostages.

It had been the tenderness, the care of Jack’s actions, that had taken Ianto’s breath way, it had made him want, even more than before, to make tonight about giving Jack everything he so desperately needed. Jack had done just that so often for him, it seemed wrong to Ianto not return the favour when circumstances allowed him to.

Now they lay on Ianto’s bed, the room lit softly by a single bedside lamp. It casts a golden glow across their naked bodies, lending an additional warmth and sensuality to their actions. It’s these private moments between them that Ianto has come to cherish, moments when they can both just be.

They’ve never really talked about what it is that they have or what it means. Somehow, when they are together, things like that just don’t seem to matter. What they have is, in a strange way, honest. They’ve never demanded anything from each other or pushed for more than the other would or could give. It is all a matter of trust.

It had been Jack who’d taught Ianto how to lose himself entirely in physical sensation. Jack who’d had taught him to live in the moment, to be able to surrender himself, and in that surrender find a freedom he’d thought never to ever feel again. Slowly, Ianto knows, Jack has been teaching him to be able to do the same for him.

There are very few people that Jack trusts implicitly, of that Ianto is certain. Given his own history with Jack it was a surprise, to say the least, when Ianto had realised that he was counted amongst those trusted few. With time though had come understanding. They’d both seen each other at their worst, both in terms of anger and in low points in their lives, and that had forged bonds between them closer than Ianto had ever imagined.

Once the massage is finished, Ianto puts the oil away, wiping his hands, watching as Jack rolls onto his back, revealing the massage has had its desired effect.

The sight of Jack lounging on the bed in front of him, naked and aroused is, in Ianto estimation, one of the most sensual that he’s seen. It’s how Jack is completely at ease with his nudity and his sexuality. It’s intoxicating.

Taking the bottle of lube from the bedside table, Ianto pops the cap. It’s cool and slick against his skin as he squeezes a generous amount in hand, warming it.

Jack watches him intently, before asking, “So, what have I done to deserve all this? Not that I’m complaining.”

“For being you, and for being here.” Ianto kisses him before Jack can start to question him any further. He doesn’t want to over analyse anything tonight, or have Jack tell him how he doesn’t deserve it. Hearing Jack blame himself for things that were entirely out of his control hurts. Although not as much as when Jack seems to honestly believe that everything he’s suffered is somehow deserved, that it’s his punishment for not being able to save everybody.

Pulling back from the kiss Ianto presses a finger to Jack’s lips, saying, “That was just for starters.”

Jack takes the opportunity to suck Ianto’s finger into his mouth, tongue moving slickly against it, leaving Ianto in no doubt as to what Jack is thinking about.

“Maybe later, if you’re good.” Ianto teases as he removes his finger from Jack mouth. He has every intention of sucking Jack off later, once he’s got a couple of fingers inside him, knowing how much Jack likes to have that kind of stimulation both inside and out at the same time.

Tonight though Ianto’s plan is to take it slow. Slow always drives Jack crazy, and Ianto has become adept at keeping him just on the edge of release, so that when he does come it’s hard, leaving Jack breathless and flying high on the endorphin rush. After times like that Jack seems able to sleep, warm and sated in Ianto arms until morning. It’s something that Ianto secretly cherishes, the feeling of waking up and knowing that he isn’t alone.

The fact that Jack staying the night invariably meant that waking up usually involved a good deal of sex as well was certainly another thing in its favour.

Getting Jack to roll onto his side Ianto lays down behind him. Moving until he’s laying slightly lower on the bed than Jack, Ianto trails gel slick fingers between the cheeks of Jack’s arse.

Rubbing a single fingertip teasingly across Jack’s hole, Ianto waits until he hears the tell tale hitch in Jack’s breathing that lets him know that Jack wants him to start hurrying things up a bit. Only then does he press a single fingertip inside.

Jack’s body accepts Ianto’s finger easily, he’s relaxed and so very ready, and Ianto takes less time adding a second finger, which slides in with the same ease as the first.

Sliding the two fingers in and out Ianto keep his movements deliberately slow. There will be plenty of other nights when they’ll take it fast, he’s sure of that. Nights when they’ll pound into each other, gasping and breathless, desperate to feel something and to remind themselves that they’re still alive. Tonight though he wants to savour ever moment of it, every sound, scent and sensation. The feeling of Jack’s muscles around his fingers, the warmth of his body pressed against him, the musky scent of their arousal between them, and the sounds that Jack makes, the breathless gasps and groans of pleasure as Ianto takes him to the edge.

“That all you got?” Jack asks breathlessly, hands clutching at the sheets as he pushes back onto Ianto’s fingers.

“Cheeky tonight aren’t you?” Ianto says fondly as he kisses and nips at Jack’s thigh, enjoying the play of strong muscles beneath the skin.

“Oh yeah,” Jack replies breathlessly. It is as much an answer as an exclamation of pleasure, as a reply, as one of Ianto’s fingertips rubs slowly across his prostate.

“You want more?”

Jack’s tongue, pink and wet, swipes briefly across his lower lip, “You know I do.”

Picking up the lube Ianto slicks up another finger, teasing sensitive skin already stretched by his other fingers with its tip.

No sooner has Ianto carefully worked a third finger inside than Jack is pushing back against them, demanding more. It’s this need and the openness of Jack under his hands that makes Ianto pause, the sudden understanding that Jack is taking tonight in a direction that he really hadn’t expected. Taking a slow breath he tries to collect his thoughts, to put them in order and decide if he’s ready to do what Jack seems to be asking of him.

“Don’t stop, not now.” Jack sounds breathless and desperate as he grasps Ianto’s wrist, encouraging him to keep moving. “Ianto, please. I need more, I can take it.”

“But…” Ianto can’t keep the apprehension from his voice as he tries to think of what to say. The realisation of just what Jack is asking him to do is both arousing and daunting in equal measure. “Are you asking me to use my hand? My whole hand?”

He hates the term fisting, it sounds brutal and violent. Yet from what he’s heard about it, read about it, it is anything but. And he has read about it, researched it. Sleeping with Jack has meant that he’s needed to quite rapidly expand his knowledge of sexual practices. Not because Jack had expected him to, but because Ianto really hadn’t wanted to have ask Jack to explain things like that to him. They’ve even discussed it a couple of times, but they’ve never actually got as far as trying it. Not because of any opposition to it on either of their parts, it had just been that the time had never seemed right.

“Yes.” There is no hesitation in Jack’s voice, only need.

“Are you sure? I could hurt you.” Whilst Ianto knows that there is nothing he can do that will cause any permanent physical harm to Jack, the thought of causing him pain, even if only by accident, leaves him cold.

“You won’t.”

Still Ianto hesitates. He knows the mechanics of it, the theory, and he knows that Jack has done this before, although he refrains from asking with whom. Some things are private, and this is probably one of the most intensely private things that Ianto can think of.

“Please.”

Jack is looking at him with such intensity, such need, and maybe even love, although Ianto doesn’t dare admit that even to himself. He has no wish to let Jack down or to disappoint him, not when this obviously means so much to him. He will do this for Jack, even if it means going outside of his own comfort zone, because it is unthinkable to deny Jack something he so obviously wants, and maybe even needs. It’s still a head rush though, and he takes a steadying breath before answering, “Alright, but if I’m hurting you’ve got to tell me, and I’ll stop. Promise me you’ll tell me.”

“I trust you, Ianto. Now trust me when I tell you, you won’t hurt me.”

There is an absolute certainty, an earnestness in Jack’s voice that Ianto knows he can’t doubt, yet still he hesitates, asking again, “Promise you’ll tell me.”

“I promise.” Jack releases his hold on Ianto’s wrist, murmuring, “You’re the only person I trust to do this with me right now, so stop asking and start doing.”

Nodding slowly, his mind racing with the enormity of what he is about to do, and at the implication of the absolute trust Jack is placing on him, Ianto withdraws his fingers. If they are going to do this, he tells himself, they need to do it right.

Jack doesn’t make a grab for his wrist this time. Instead he shifts slightly on the bed to lay on his side, watching Ianto with a look of need and anticipation.

Taking the bottle of lube from where it lays on the bed beside them, Ianto coats his fingers thoroughly. He reasons that it’s probably better to use too much than too little for something like this, especially when it being done by somebody as inexperienced as himself.  
.  
Although he’d already been at three fingers Ianto drops back to two, starting to work as much lube as he can into Jack.

He lets Jack set the pace now, lets his body dictate the speed, never forcing, only pressing deeper once there is no resistance.

The sight of Jack pushing back against him, letting him know just how much he can take, is deeply erotic. Briefly, Ianto fantasizes about letting Jack do this to him, about how it would feel to let go so completely. To be taken, as Jack had once described it to him, to a different place within your own mind. It’s both exhilarating and a little terrifying, especially as he realises that if Jack were to suggest it he would never be able to bring himself to say no.

Time seems to mean nothing now. Nothing in the world matters but the connection between them. It doesn’t matter to Ianto that he’s no longer hard, this isn’t about his own sexual gratification, and if he’s honest then perhaps tonight never really was. This is about the two of them being closer and more intimate than they have ever been.

Watching Jack slowly unravel in front of him, his tensions and troubles forgotten, Ianto feels deeply privileged that Jack trusts him enough to let himself be this vulnerable in front of him.

Once they reach four fingers Jack’s breathing starts to slow and deepen, his head falling back against the pillows, eyes closing.

Stopping, Ianto caresses his cheek, stroking into his hair until Jack is focused on him again. Only then does he ask, “Do you still want this?” There is far too much at stake for them both for him not make absolutely certain.

“Yes.” Jack’s voice sounds distant, as if he is on the edge of sleep, “You know I do. You know me.”

“Okay then.” It is in moments such as this that Ianto thinks that he should be able to tell Jack he loves him, yet somehow he never can. It has become just another of the innumerable things that remain unspoken between them, yet which they both know to be true with a certainty that goes transcends mere words.

Everything seems heightened now. Every sound, every scent, every movement, all his senses attuned to Jack’s well being. The feeling of power, of total control, leaves him flying. It is only the knowledge that Jack's safety and his trust in him is entirely in his hands that keeps Ianto grounded.

Jack had told him once that it was about being in a different headspace, and at that moment Ianto knows what he means. This gives them something that they both so often desperately need. Jack gets to relinquish control, to remember that it is all right to trust and that not everybody will betray him.

For Ianto it is about allowing him to have total control of a situation, something that he rarely gets in reality. It allows him to start to trust his own judgement again, to have faith in his own abilities and to reinforce the knowledge that the trust between him and Jack is still strong.

It’s awkward to work his thumb inside, and Ianto stops again, withdrawing and applying more lube. Pressing his fingers together, keeping his thumb tucked tight against his palm, Ianto tries to narrow the profile of his hand as much as possible. Then, after applying as much lube to his hand as he can, he begins, with painstaking slowness, to open Jack still wider.

“Nearly there now.” Ianto strokes a hand down Jack’s thigh, feeling the play of strong muscles under the skin. “Push back with me.”

Jack nods and then gasps, hands clutching at the sheets as the widest part of Ianto’s hand breaches him. Jack’s expression, briefly one of discomfort, rapidly fades as Ianto runs a hand down his chest.

The suddenness with which Jack’s body accepts the rest of Ianto’s hand after that point is surprising. Jack’s body drawing him in, until strong muscles clamp down tightly about his wrist. The heat and pressure around his hand is intense and Ianto can only wonder how it must feel for Jack.

Jack’s still looking at him, but his eyes seem unfocused, and Ianto knows that Jack has, for a time at least got what he wants: Peace.

Leaning forward, careful not to make any sudden movement with his hand, Ianto kisses Jack softly on the lips, feeling the warm rush of his breath as he does.

Even the slightest movement now, the tiniest flex of his fingers causes Jack to groan. His stomach and thigh muscles are twitching and tensing as he tries to keep still.

Keeping his movements as small and slow as he can Ianto starts to curls his fingers. Feeling Jack tremble and shudder around him as they brush his prostate, he stops, and waits, letting Jack come back from the edge before continuing.

It’s only once his hand is finally curled into a fist, fingernails carefully pressed against his own palm, does Ianto begin to touch Jack in earnest.

Tracing a hand down Jack’s chest, Ianto finds that even the gentlest of passes across Jack's nipples, brings a response. A sharp intake of breath, muscles quivering with the strain of trying not the writhe under Ianto’s hands.

Jack’s body is flushed, almost fever hot to the touch, his arousal plain to see, his cock hard and red, its head wet with pearly pre-come, lays heavy against his thigh.

Having Jack stretched out beneath him, so open and vulnerable, so responsive to his touch, feels like such a privilege, an amazing demonstration of Jack’s trust in him. It is a gift that Ianto hopes he’s actually worthy of.

Trailing his hand lower Ianto caresses the taught muscles of Jack’s stomach. He knows that Jack can’t last long like this.

It only needs a single gentle touch, Ianto’s finger stroking through the pre-come that is running freely down his cock and Jack is coming. His hands clutch the sheets, as he cries out wordlessly, body tensing and relaxing in pulses. The pressure on Ianto’s hand is intense as Jack’s muscles contract almost impossibly tight around it.

Ianto keeps stroking Jack through his orgasm, his hand slick with Jack’s own come, drawing out the moment, hoping that he’s been able to give Jack what he’d wanted.

Slowly, as the shudders and aftershocks give way to a faint trembling, Jack closes his eyes. His breathing, once deep and even begins to speed up, becoming shallower, distressed, and he whispers, “It’s too much, Ianto, stop. I can’t…it’s too much.”

Ianto stills his movements instantly, worried that he’s pushed Jack too far, or that he’s done something wrong and that Jack is going to start hyperventilating.

“It’s okay. You’re alright.”

Jack whimpers, a noise that is too close to distress for Ianto’s liking.

“Jack, just look at me, okay.”

Slowly he opens his eyes, although Ianto’s still not entirely convinced that he’s really looking at him.

“I’m going to uncurl my hand now.” Ianto knows that he can’t remove his hand without doing that, or at least not without causing Jack considerable pain, and he’s certainly not about to do that.

Jack gasps and trembles, his body still hypersensitive, as Ianto carefully straightens his fingers, tucking his thumb back against his palm.

Ianto can feel his own sense of calm and control slipping, being replaced by the fear that he’s screwed up something special. That maybe he wasn’t ready to do this, that Jack’s trust in him is misplaced.

He doesn’t let any of that fear show in his voice though as he strokes a calming hand through Jack’s hair, telling him, “Just push back with me.”

Although Jack doesn’t speak or give any other indication that he has heard Ianto he complies.

He slowly, carefully removes his hand, acutely aware that if he rushes things he’ll hurt Jack. He’s actually shaking as his hand finally slips free.

As soon as Ianto’s hand is gone Jack rolls over onto his side, turning his face against the pillows, starting to shiver.

Grabbing some wet wipes from the bedside table Ianto quickly cleans his hand before lying down beside Jack, holding him close.

“Are you alright?” Ianto strokes Jack’s hair soothingly, as much in an attempt to calm himself as to calm Jack. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Jack shakes his head, his eyes closed again, and Ianto’s disturbed to note that tears are now starting to slip from under the tightly closed lids.

“Jack, talk to me. Please.” Turning Jack round as gently as he can so that Jack’s head rests against his chest, Ianto presses a kiss to Jack’s forehead, “Come on, you’re starting to scare me.”

“I’m okay.” Jack sounds choked and emotional. He curls closer into Ianto, wrapping an arm around his waist, clinging to him like he's the last safe thing left in the world.

“That was probably one of the least convincing okays I’ve ever heard.” Ianto tries to keep his tone light, kissing Jack again, and forcing a calm smile onto his face. Stroking Jack’s hair, he tries to reassure him, hoping that his own unease isn’t too obvious. Ianto is sure the last thing that Jack needs to know right now is just how terrified he is of having screwed this up.

“I am. I just…” He lets out a slow breath, “I just need a few minutes.” Jack’s voice is a little steadier this time as he slowly opens his eyes, although they still look a little unfocused, like he’s not yet fully aware of everything going on around him.

Ianto nods slowly, feeling a little calmer now that Jack sounds more in control of himself again.

A little later, and with Jack’s breathing slowing and deepening as he drifts towards sleep, Ianto asks, “What was it like?”

“Intense.”

“Perhaps tonight wasn’t the best time,” Ianto says gently, still holding Jack close. He still feels a little shaky, but he suspects that’s as much about coming down from the adrenaline rush as it is any residual fear about Jack being alright.

“It was. It was just the right time. I needed it. I can’t explain, Ianto, there aren’t words for it. Sometimes I need to forget, just for a little while. To not have to think about anything.” He smiles, tired and contented. “You let me do that, you let me be able to let go.” Jack closes his eyes again, resting his head on Ianto’s chest, before whispering almost reverently, “Thank you.”

Swallowing hard past a sudden lump in his throat, Ianto holds Jack close, unable to form an intelligible response. Eventually though he manages to say, “Any time.” He’s not sure if Jack is even awake to hear his response, or acknowledge the fact that his voice is less than steady. But that doesn’t matter, because he knows that he means every word. If ever Jack needs this from him again he will do.

Reassured that he hasn’t caused more harm than good, Ianto drags the duvet up over them both. He’ll worry about the stains and almost certainly ruined sheets and all the laundry that he’s going to have to do tomorrow. None of that matters at the moment, it’s trivial beside what he and Jack have just shared.

Jack’s breathing is deep and even now as he sinks deeper into a sated sleep, his head heavy against Ianto’s shoulder. His hand rests on Ianto’s chest just below his heart, fingers splayed, covering and claiming as much he can.

Placing his hand over Jack's, Ianto kisses him again, just a light touch of lips on his forehead. He can't reach Jack's mouth from their current angle, not without disturbing or waking him. Somehow though, this is better, more right.

How long Jack will sleep, Ianto doesn’t know. It could be until morning or it could be just a few minutes, Jack’s sleep patterns have been erratic since his return. This latest tragedy has obliterated much of the hard won peace that Jack had begun to find since he came back to Cardiff.

Either way, whether it’s minutes or hours, Ianto knows that when Jack does wake up he’ll be there, because there is nowhere else he’d rather be.  
  
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